Learn Spanish With Chris Lebron with these 11 Song Recommendations (Full Translations Included!)
Desde Mis Ojos is Chris Lebron’s heartfelt SOS wrapped in a smooth reggaeton groove. The Dominican singer invites us to step into his point of view and feel the intensity of his longing: “If you could see yourself from my eyes, you’d know why I insist so much.” Social-media flashes mean nothing to him; what he truly craves is her presence when the morning light hits. Every second apart feels like drowning, and he pleads for her to rescue him from this emotional shipwreck.
As the chorus repeats, he shuts his eyes, looks to the sky, and she is everywhere—yet nowhere. Memories of dawn kisses and unconditional affection haunt him while he stands “against the ropes.” His constant refrain “Devuélveme el espíritu” (Give me back my spirit) reveals that her love is the very air he breathes. Beneath the catchy beat lies a vulnerable heart sending one last, passionate call for reunion, hoping that love will return and set his soul free.
Desde Mis Ojos (Remix) is a passionate reggaeton confession where Chris Lebron, Sech, and Jay Wheeler let us peek straight into their hearts. The title means “From My Eyes,” and that is exactly the invitation: see yourself the way I see you. Over a smooth yet pulsing beat, the trio switches between flirty bravado (promising to “lower the moon” and outrun any rival) and raw vulnerability (tears that drip onto the pillow when she is gone). Social-media shoutouts, clever wordplay, and catchy hooks keep things playful, but every verse circles back to the same plea: come back, because life loses its spirit without you.
Whether they are Googling her name, replaying “their” song on the radio, or daydreaming with eyes closed, the singers paint a vivid picture of obsessive love that refuses to fade. The remix format lets each artist add his own color to the heartbreak, turning a personal lament into a chorus of voices united by longing. In the end, the message is clear: if she could only look at herself desde sus ojos, she would understand why they keep insisting, loving, and waiting.
Chris Lebrón’s “Bandido” is a heartbreak confession set to a smooth Dominican R&B groove. The singer looks back on all the times he played fair in love—offering second chances, keeping his promises, even picturing a life sealed with a wedding ring—only to end up deceived. After witnessing honesty crumble at the altar and feeling his own heart twist “por un mal querer,” he decides that romance has pushed him to the dark side. The chorus sums it up: life turned him into a bandido (outlaw), and if being “good” means stepping forward toward more pain, he would rather step back.
Underneath the catchy melody lies a raw declaration of self-protection. Lebrón admits he might look like the villain now, but it is the scars of past rejection that forged this new persona. The symbolic ring that almost “cost him a finger” is the final straw convincing him to guard what is left of his soul. In short, “Bandido” captures that relatable moment when someone who once believed in pure love decides to wear emotional armor instead, leaving listeners to wonder whether the real crime is turning bad or trusting too much in the first place.
Chris Lebrón’s “Préstame” feels like a late-night confession turned into a silky bachata-tinged R&B anthem. After betting all his chips on a past relationship and losing, the Dominican crooner admits his heart is “in overdraft.” Now he looks at a new love interest and makes an unusual request: lend me a little of your love. He is honest about the baggage he carries—tired eyes, tougher rules, and a cautious ego—yet he still believes that a borrowed spark could reignite his faith in romance.
Behind the smooth melodies you will hear a tug-of-war between vulnerability and self-protection. Chris blames destiny for stacking the odds against him, but he is willing to gamble once more if this time he can “use it well.” The song turns the simple act of falling in love into a temporary loan agreement, reminding us that even a bruised heart can learn to beat with hope again when someone is kind enough to share a little of their own.
Ever wished you could order love like a favorite dish? In “Mesero,” Dominican reggaeton sensation Chris Lebrón turns the bar into a bittersweet restaurant of memories. Singing to a puzzled waiter, the narrator frantically scans the menu, hoping to find his ex-lover’s kisses listed between bottles of rum and late-night snacks. Each request for “una dosis de ella” reveals how deeply he’s hooked; even the most expensive drink would be a bargain if it could bring her back to his table.
The song sways between playful wordplay and raw desperation. Lebrón’s upbeat reggaeton groove masks a heart on the verge of breaking as he pleads for help: “¿Cómo voy a borrarla del corazón?” He can’t erase the sensual images dancing in his mind, and every refusal from the waiter feels like another stab of loneliness. “Mesero” is a catchy, dance-ready reminder that no matter how lively the rhythm, longing for someone who’s gone can leave you thirstier than any cocktail ever could.
Mamá Me Preguntaba is a heartfelt street confession wrapped in smooth Latin R&B and urban swagger. Chris Lebrón, together with Puerto Rican rap icon Cosculluela, opens his diary to show us the tender tug-of-war between a son’s love for his mother and the risky hustle he’s chosen to escape poverty. The chorus recreates that universal kitchen-table moment: Mom asks where all this money suddenly came from, afraid her boy has become a callejero (street hustler). He answers with both pride and worry, promising that every late-night mission and stack of cash is really a shield meant to protect her from need.
Underneath the catchy melody lies a raw story of gratitude, guilt, and determination. The artists admit to “moving keys” and dodging the law, yet their biggest fear is not prison—it’s seeing their mother suffer. Spiritual references, bilingual wordplay, and powerful lines like “prefiero morir de pie que verte down on your knees” paint a picture of a son who walks dangerous roads so his mother can finally sleep in peace. The song is both a street anthem and a love letter, reminding listeners that behind many flashy successes there is often a humble promise made at home: “I’ll come back tomorrow, Mom, and you’ll never lack a thing.”
La Jaula Perfecta is Chris Lebron’s playful way of saying that love can feel both secure and liberating at the same time. In the song he tells his partner that, although countless admirers fill her DMs and more than a hundred suitors circle around, he is the one who cherishes not just her beauty but her mind. For him, fame, money, and outside temptation are worthless if she is not by his side. She is his media mitad—the missing half that makes him whole—and when she is near, every part of him comes alive.
Lebron proudly flaunts their relationship (“to’ lo nuestro es presumible”) even when others are annoyed by their happiness. He calls her “la jaula perfecta,” the perfect cage, because her love is so captivating that he never wants to leave. The message is simple yet heartfelt: true freedom is finding the one person who makes you feel complete, letting the rest of the world watch while you build your own private paradise to the rhythm of reggaeton.
Heartbreak has a rhythm in Si Preguntan Por Mí. Dominican crooner Chris Lebrón joins forces with Colombian star Manuel Turizo to paint a vivid picture of love gone ice-cold. Over a smooth Latin R&B beat, the singers look straight at an ex and say, “If they ask about me, tell them how you ruined this.” The lyrics swing between wounded pride and reluctant acceptance: he gave everything, she traded him for a fleeting fling, and now he wears the scar “like a stray bullet” lodged in his soul.
Behind the catchy melody lies a lesson in honesty and consequence. Lebrón reminds his former lover that appearances deceive; faces may smile, but hearts tell the truth. Each verse stacks proof of his devotion—bringing the moon to her room, sliding Saturn’s ring on her finger—only for her to respond with lies and betrayal. The hook sums it up: he bet on happiness, she bet against it, and in the end she won by walking away. The song becomes a bittersweet anthem for anyone who has loved deeply, lost unexpectedly, and still found the strength to let the music speak for them when words run dry.
Préstame Remix spins a heartfelt story of three men nursing the same wound: they gave everything to love, and love still walked away. Chris Lebrón opens the track admitting that betrayal hit him “hasta el alma”—straight to the soul. Sech jumps in, half-joking, half-hurting, confessing he would need a surgeon to pull the leftover love from his chest. Jay Wheeler rounds it out, confessing that his once-soft heart is now running on strict new rules: dar y recibir (give and get back). Together they paint a picture of modern romance where broken trust has made them cautious, even a bit selfish, yet still craving connection.
Their solution? Borrow a little love. Instead of promising grand forever’s, they ask their new partner for a préstamo—a loan of affection—so they can try again without risking another total loss. The chorus turns that plea into a catchy mantra: “Si tienes amor, entonces, préstame.” It is at once vulnerable and pragmatic, a reminder that even after heartbreak, people look for hope in small doses. The remix format lets each artist share his scars, making the song feel like a late-night group therapy session set to smooth urbano-R&B rhythms. Listeners are left dancing while quietly thinking: maybe lending a bit of love is how we all heal, one verse at a time.
“Contacto De Dios” finds Dominican artist Chris Lebron gazing up at the sky and jokingly asking God for a time-machine. Adult life has hit him with rent, job insecurity and the constant need to “play it cool,” so he wishes he could send a message to his younger self: “When I asked to grow up, I was only kidding!” Through playful regret, he realizes that childhood – filled with friends, a full plate, a safe roof and a loving mom – was nothing short of paradise.
As the song unfolds, Lebron contrasts flashy adult trophies (the newest car, jewelry, designer clothes) with the priceless freedom of having no commitments. He admits that if he had known what awaited him, he would have listened to his mother’s advice and held on tighter to innocence. With smooth vocals and a reflective beat, the track becomes an honest confession and a gentle reminder to cherish the simple gifts we often overlook until they are gone.
“Eso No Es De Gangster” pairs Dominican crooner Chris Lebrón with Puerto Rican hit-maker Justin Quiles for a smooth bachata-meets-urbano confession. The singers speak to a woman whose flashy ex thought that diamonds, cars and cash were enough to keep her happy. They point out the obvious: jewelry can’t dry tears and money can’t buy real affection. Instead of flexing material wealth, they offer something far rarer in their world—genuine love, tenderness, and the promise of unforgettable adventures from Casa de Campo to the beach.
The hook drives the message home: “If he made you cry, that’s not gangster.” Real toughness, they argue, is treating a partner like the work of art she is. So while the drums sway and the guitars twinkle, Chris and Justin flip the usual macho script, calling out empty bravado and showcasing a softer, more protective side. It’s a feel-good anthem that reminds listeners that respect, fun, and heartfelt devotion will always beat bling. ¡Eso sí es de gangster! 🍫🎶